


Star Squadron Amun-Ra

by Aaron2Bu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien Character(s), Alien Technology, Aliens, F/M, First story, Gen, Historical, Historical References, Sci-Fi, Science Fiction, Slight Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron2Bu/pseuds/Aaron2Bu
Summary: A group of fighter pilots form an unbreakable bond during the second World War. However, when they thought their lives were coming to an end, they find that they are needed again in the 21st century. The only question now is how a group old dogs can help in rescuing a Princess and save the universe in the process.
Kudos: 1





	1. And so it Starts

** Star Squadron Amun-Ra **

** Chapter One **

** And so it starts **

****

Now to most people, on this day, in April 1943, North Africa was magnificent. The sky was cloudless and bright blue, and the ground was vivid and colorful, well, the ground could be seen. If this were back home, on a day like this young man could just see himself on a hidden beach somewhere soaking up the atmosphere. However, he wasn’t back in South Florida. Right now, Captain Lester Freeman of the 99 Pursuit Squadron, excuse me, the 99 Fighting Squadron, was flying towards the south of Italy.

The hot sun was baking him like a campfire potato and the surrounding cockpit felt tight and about as sturdy as the tin foil he would wrap that very same potato in. The glass of the cockpit worked like a magnifier, warming up the cabin and strongly emphasized the smell of leather and old oil.

All this made Captain Freeman feel like the luckiest man alive. Lucky, because he was flying. The open vent blew cool air directly on to his face, the growl of the engine made him feel powerful and at that very moment he was a hawk, an old Curtiss P-40 Warhawk not looking to start a fight, but you best better believe he and his squadron was ready to end one.

To the left and right of Freeman was the rest of his squadron, difficult to see and they were spread out behind him in an arrowhead formation. A second squadron of US Army Air Corps flyers flew a head closer to the B17 bombers they were escorting as a sort of decoy or bait. The plan was that if they came across enemy fighters, while they would engage the second squadron would attack from above causing as much damage as possible. The P-40 Warhawks looked menacing with its fat bright red nose and gaping savage looking teeth, but they were slow and difficult to manage, and the pilots needed to take whatever advantage they could get.

Captain Freeman tried to twist his head round to first look to his left and then to his right but couldn’t quite see his brothers in arms. He knew they were there, they had that kind of trust with one another, but the only thing that confirm this was the faint sound that could be heard through the canopy and over the deep humming sound of his own engine.

Then, as if to confirm his curiosity, Lieutenant Sidney P. “Thousand Island (T.I.)” Williams’ voice cracked over the radio. “Bang-Bang…. Bang, Bang…” Freeman could tell is was T.I., on account of his New Orleans gentlemanly intonation. It was like a raised in the company of Crescent city royalty, unless he had been drinking fine bourbon for a while, then he sounded like he came straight out of the Bayou. 

Freeman did not answer T.I. because the words Bang-Bang were not some random gibberish, or a rally call for all to come to arms. It was a call sign and nick name for another brother of the ‘The Five’, a Lieutenant Danny “Bang-Bang” Morgan was Detroit. A true gear head who grew up always under the hood a car in his father’s garage and he answered T.I. with a resounding, “What!?!”

Freedom felt it was more to shut T.I. up rather than to ask a question in curiosity.

“How in the name of all that is holy did that woman you were talking and dancing with last night make it as a nurse?”

“Nurse Parker, how you mean?” asked Bang-Bang, now genuinely curious.

“Brother, she a mess, she could get locked overnight in a grocery store and still starve to death by morning.”

Bang-Bang ignored the laughing coming from the other pilots. It didn’t faze him, he was used to T.I.’s juvenal instigating and just said, “Well, she must be more intelligent than you give her credit for. After all, she was smart enough to choose me over you.”

Once again through the radio laughter and carrying on could be heard, but this time it was on the side of Bang-Bang and his lovely comeback.

Over the radio other pilots could be heard laughing, even Captain Freeman chuckled to himself.

Lieutenant James Earl “Country” Woods chimed in, “Boys, I know I meet the love of my life last night.”

Woods mainly grew up on a farm in County, Virginia. He was an odd build for a flyboy due to the fact that he looked like he had been bailing hay since he was five years old. This led to a few jokes about his size and how he fits inside the cockpit of a fighter. Lieutenant Louis “Sandwich” Turner first comment was to ask if the reason why Country was in love with this mystery woman had anything to do with if she had made him a gumbo. T.I. intervened as if to corrected him and said it was a crab boil, Bang-bang finally interjected and hailed “Jambalaya!”

Another pilot listening overheard and wanted to play, “Mash potatoes, gravy and meatloaf!”

Sandwich, T.I. and Bang-Bang turned on the pilot, each in turn telling him to ‘shut up’, ‘stay out of it’ and to ‘mind his own business’. It is not that they had a disliking towards the guy, but Country was their brother and they were very protective over him. As big as Country was, he didn’t have a mean bone in his body and they would see it that no one, not even the base commander would take advantage of him.

Country sounded almost bashful when he said, “Stop playing guys, I don’t always think with my stomach. I really think she’s the one!”

T.I., “Why? Really. Is she a good cook?”

Bang-Bang, “Cause you know Country, if you were to get any bigger we’re going to have to use shoe horn to get you into your plane.”

Captain Freeman spoke up for the first time, “Hold down chatter! We’re entering the hot zone so keep your trap shut and your eyes and ears open!”

After the war, the 99 Fighting Squadron, the Tuskegee Airmen, would go on to be recognized as some of the best pilots to have ever serve with in the US Army Air Corp. They, perhaps, rank as some of the best pilots to have flown anywhere, ever. However, within the squadron five guys stood together, like brothers, in the service of their country, much like that story by Alexander Dumas. The difference was that there were five of them, like five fingers of a powerful fist.

You had Lt. Louis “Sandwich” Turner from Harlem in New York City and Lt. Danny “Bang-Bang” Morgan from Detroit, Michigan, the Motor City.

Then there was Lt. James Earl “Country” Woods from a farm somewhere around County, Virginia and Lt. Sidney P. “Thousand Island (T.I.)” Williams from deep in the Bayou of New Orleans.

Then finally, the elder brother or lead protagonist, born to a Native American father and Afro-American in the Everglades in South Florida, Captain Lester “Seminole” Freeman.

Now leaving the coast of Tunisia and proceeding over the Mediterranean towards Sicily, the atmosphere took a serious turn. The pilots remained quiet and vigilant observing the clear cloudless sky and the inviting crystal deep blue sea, but unable to savor and appreciate its beauty. The main problem was that the P-40 Warhawks were slower and less maneuverable than their German _luftwaffe_ counterparts. Any lapse of concentration could end up as a loss of life, for yourself or for the guy next to you.

The plan was simple, in theory, as the first squadron were to stay close to the bombers they were escorting. They formed a barrier of protection, but these planes were also as bait as the second squadron held back. It was Seminole and his squadron, including his four friends, turn to hold back flying higher and slightly further back to be kept from immediate sight. It took a little more patience to maintain that position, but when they encountered the enemy it would easier to surprise them.

Attacking pilots would see the B17 and the surrounding fighters, put all their attention on them, unaware that more planes would come down behind them in a pincer movement squashing the Luftwaffe or the Regia Aeronautica (the Italian air force) between themselves and the rest of the fighters protecting the flying fortresses.

It was Thousand Island, T.I., that was the first to see the enemy planes. At first it was nothing more than one, two, three, four, until twelve black dots appeared against a cerulean sky. It wasn’t until the planes got must closer that it became clear they were facing the Italians. The Caproni Vizzola F4’s were considered to be inferior planes, not as daunting as facing the Germans, but, as every pilot knew, this was not by any means an excuse to take things easy.

The Italian squadron were patrolling their south westerly coastline when they received a call over the radio over about the sighting. They were the closest and Tenente, which means Lieutenant, Sergio Rossi remembered the Captain making a joke about going hunting.

It was not long before they saw the opposing squadron and felt that it would be a Carnival shooting gallery. They would fly in and take shots then withdraw, the escorts unable to follow as that would leave the bombers unprotected. This would be Sergio’s first fire fight, his stomach tight and twisted with nerves, but also excited. The way he heard his fellow pilots speak about such situations a part of himself imagined he too would be boasting about his kills as he downed beers and impressing the local young ladies at the bar.

The pilots of the Italian Airforce received the command to swoop down on the bombers and their escorts. They had the high ground and what looked like the element of surprise. Tenente Sergio Rossi pushed forward on the throttle and even though he was secured behind the glass of the plane’s cockpit, he felt like he was pushed back into his seat.

Without warning the lead fighter was torn to shreds in a hail of bullets and then burst into a ball of fire. The Warhawk that attacked the captain’s plane from above flew through the dissipating flames proving there was nothing left. Sergio screamed, he had never seen anything like that before in his life, nor did he ever expect to see such terrible sight. By the time Regia Aeronautica realized what was going on they had already witnessed the second plane of the squadron being practically sawn in half by another Warhawk’s gunfire.

Tenente Sergio began to sweat profusely and was failing to catch his breath bringing in the early stages of hyperventilation. He managed squeeze off a few rounds, while simultaneously pulling back in the hope to get away from the fighters and bombers of the US Army Air corps. Two more Caproni Vizzola F4’s immediately suffered the same fate as the second plane being shot through in a way that made it look like they were having tails or wings being sawn off on the approach. Unfortunately, Sergio could only see two the pilots of the three of those destroyed aircrafts managing to bail out and get clear.

The remaining Italian squadron attempted to bank away to the right. By this time there were only eight remaining planes, but in that moment, while trying to get away, a further two more F4 planes were lost to the fighting 99. The eight was now six, one descending gradually to the sea, the engine giving off thick dark grey smoke and the other plane failing out of the sky with no sign of any damage. Perhaps this may have been due to the pilot taking a shot directly, but nobody could know for sure. It just gradually descends out of sight, no smoke, no attempt to right itself, just falling.

Lieutenant Danny “Bang-Bang” Morgan shot down a seventh F4 fighter. The Italian pilot managed to eject, but it was directly into his path Bang-Bang. This action caught the Detroit native off guard and he had to bank a hard left as fast as he could so that he would not tear into him with his propeller. It was a pilot’s job to shoot down planes all day long, but take out a man parachuting to safety, especially in such a horrific way, that was never Bang-Bang at all.

Bang-Bang did manage to roll and avoid pilot in his parachute, but in the process, he clipped the wing of another Caproni Vizzola F4 belonging to Tenente Sergio Rossi coming from the opposite direction. Sergio seem to continue unharmed, but it took Lieutenant Morgan all his will power to keep control while at the same time make it out of the action in one piece.

Not long after this confrontation the B17s had passed Sicily and were entering Italy’s airspace. There they would leave their Tuskegee escorts behind and join 79th Squadron having the 99 return to their base in North Africa to refuel and await the bombers return. Bang-Bang had already left the dogfighting and was trying to make it home after his near deadly collision. It was getting increasingly more and more difficult to control his machine, using both hands to keep level and steady. 

He looked out to his right and could see that it was just the very tip of the wing that was severely damaged. The plane, at first, would try to veer to the right as if it were heavier on than side and the weight was trying to pull the craft down. At first it was not so bad, the pulling sensation was light Bang-Bang’s main concern was to just avoid flying around in continuous circles. The Curtiss P-40 Warhawk would then start to struggle further, rocking side to side in a seesaw motion. When Bang-Bang looked towards his wing again he noticed the aileron on that side was not working like it should. It was stiff and eventually stop moving altogether. He figured that as soon as he was over land, he would look at it and try to rig something up to enable him to at least get home in one peace.

A long squeak followed by a clang preceded the spray on liquid on the glass of the right side off the cockpit. The controls began to shake violently and even with both his hands he did know how much longer he could control it. So aggressively was the shaking that Bang-Bang’s wrists would ache, but he could not afford to let go through of fear of spiraling out of control and into the Mediterranean Sea. He was beginning to consider jumping before this very same airplane became his coffin. The Curtiss P-40 could quite possibly either crumble upon impact like a house made of match sticks or sink to the bottom dragging him down with it like a siren of the deep.

Bang-Bang first looked around to make sure he was the right way up. It was important to keep calm, and nothing would ruin an emergency exit of a plane more than simply releasing yourself upside down directly into the ground. After he made sure he was right side up, he checked the altitude on his dashboard and finally checked his surroundings to establish how far he was from the shore.

It was not too much longer before Lt. Danny “Bang-Bang” Morgan could finally see the coast of Tunisia on the horizon. In the confusion it could have been entirely possible that he missed Tunisia completely and he was approaching Libya, but the fuel was still good, and he did not feel he had been flying long enough. The instability of the plane still made bailing out the better option and his plan was to get high enough to jump, but then came sound of metal screeching followed by the second loud bang.

“When will it end?” Bang-Bang whined at loud to himself, a little scared but mainly frustrated with all the things going against his chances of survival.

A not very sturdy, battle worn P-40 Warhawk, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep level. At the rate is was now losing altitude it was very probable that he would crash upon landing. He looked out towards the wing again, a futile gesture, and saw not the brown liquid he had seen before, now a thicker cover over the glass on the right side of his cock pit. Now if he jumped over land, it would be dangerous as he would not have enough height to pull his parachute cord and land safely. Besides, if he were to let go of his controls, even for a minute, the plane would spiral out of control making it impossible to get clear of the plane safely. Continuing to fight with the stick to keep his nose up and the wings level Bang-Bang had to cut the engine in the hope that he could slow the descent. The problem was momentum had already taken over and if he were not careful it would be a violent and painful death. He wondered if he hit the ground too steep and tumble head over tail or if would hit the terrain like a flat pebble skimming over the surface of a pond. He began to recite the lords pray through gritted teeth using all his strength to rein in the Warhawk.

_“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be they name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done; on Earth as it is in heaven…”_


	2. And so it starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seminole and T.I. investigate the site of Bang-Bang's crash and things may be worst than they were expecting.

** Chapter Two **

** As so it starts **

Country was the first to land out of the five steadfast friends, then Sandwich, T.I was then next after that and then finally Seminole. He saw that Bang-Bang leave the action with a damaged wing as well as spoke to him, wishing him luck in making it back safely. As soon as he rolled open the canopy of his cockpit his first words to the ground crew was, “Where’s Lieutenant Morgan?”

The fact that he was not there already told him that the news was not good. A mechanic said he heard Bang-Bang was coming down back by the coast, but they lost communication and didn’t know anything more than that. They all looked back at him with sad and worried eyes, Sandwich with his head held low spoke up anyway, “We’re going to have to go look for him Captain.”

Seminole tried to not let his emotions show. He had to maintain some civility and reminded everyone around him the possibility that Bang-Bang was alive and making his own way back. Regardless, they still had to escort the B17s home later that day and as a Captain his first duty was to the mission and the US Army Air Corps. However, each of them better believe he was not about to leave one of his brothers out there alone.

Only a few hours had pasted when the 99 Fighting Squadron went out again to meet the bombers upon their return and the flight home went without an incident. When they reached the coast of Africa Seminole and T.I. broke off from formation while Sandwich and Country returned to base to cover for their friends and begin their part of a pre-arranged plan the four guys had put together earlier that day. 

Seminole would breakaway under the guise of having engine trouble and T.I. would go with him to make sure he was okay. This would give them a little time to search for their missing brother or at least the plane itself. Country would fly back with Sandwich and use their resources to gather what they could go looking for Bang-Bang if Seminole and T.I. were unsuccessful. 

It was not that Seminole and T.I. could see where the plane crashed landed from the sky. They made an educated guess as to where they could possibly bring down a P-40 safely. They thought of which route they were instructed to have taken during the mission briefing early this morning and combined that information with what patches of land were large and flat enough for an ‘injured bird’ would most likely have found as ‘a suitable place to rest’.

After circling off the coast Tunisia for a short while, before they flew inland, low, trying to find any signs of wreckage. They came across the first stretch of land flat enough to accommodate landing a plane. Seminole and T.I. first noticed the wreckage of the burnt-out as they got out of the cockpits of their planes but approached it curiously. In stoic silence, they looked around and then examined the scene. Seminole, with the eye of a hunter and T.I., with the eye of an intelligent and patient man.

T.I. noticed that the body was straight, perpendicular to its wings, well one wing at least. The right wing had broken off a few paces back and was unburnt like the left wing and main body of the plane the wing was still attached to. Like a long straight trail leading up to the aircraft, there was a wide skid mark left by the belly and second inside it and not as wide left by the tail itself. From which T.I. was able to surmise that the undercarriage failed, but plane did not come down in a ball of fury. As it came down on its belly and being unable to fix or move the vehicle, Bang-Bang, as was the protocol to do to stop planes ending up in Enemy hands, must have set fire to it.

Seminole noticed this also, but he also noted that the footprints around the wreckage which were made by the standard issue army regulation footwear that were distributed to all the pilots. To confirm a thought Seminole placed his foot alongside one of the footprints and it seemed to confirm that it was the same size Lieutenant “Bang-Bang” Morgan. This was another indication that their friend was alive, or at least he was at the time of his landing. The next question that Seminole thought to himself was then, ‘Why didn’t he wait by his plane?'

“Unless the standard issue army air corps boots are the fashion around here, these sets of footprints belonged to Bang-bang. That’s the good news.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Lieutenant “T.I.” Williams.

Seminoles then pointed towards tracks as he was explaining that he believed that Bang-bang had been picked by somebody riding a large even toed animal that left in a hurry. “A dromedary camel” T.I. interjected.

Seminole shrugged and said, “If you say so…” and then continued to point out that there was no sign of a scuffle and that the reason why they left in a hurry was because of the following set of tracks, this time left by a vehicle.

“What really concerns me is who’s driving that vehicle. The only guys that were most often driving around in North Africa were the British, Germans, Italians and US.”

Again T.I. interjected as if to finish off what Seminole was saying, “…And if it were the Germans and the Italians, then of course Bang-Bang would have got the ‘hell’ out of here.”

Going through the markings on the ground always brought back memories of when Seminole’s father taught him how to hunt. These lessons were not just in catching food, but in how to learn patience, to care in what he did and to always be aware of all that is around him.

“What do you see?” His father would ask him and Seminole, barely ten years of age, would point out a doe and two fawns. However, his father corrected him, compassionate in his teaching and pointed out a third set of tracks indication that there were three fawns not two. They tracked the family and finally through the forest and finally caught up to them at the forest edge. While keeping an eye on the mother and it’s three young both father and son were deliberately slow, methodical and careful to not be seen or heard. They took great care remain downwind so the doe would not pick up their scent. Finally, the father and son got to a place where the young Lester “Seminole” Freeman could get a clear and precise shot. He raised the bow and aimed down his arrow. His father gently placed hand on Lester’s arm to lower the bow and asked in Muscogee, “Did you not eat today?”

The boy, a little confused, replied that he did and then his father asked a follow up question, “Will there be food tomorrow?”

To this young Lester Freeman replied in the affirmative. Seminole’s father went on to explain the value of a life and that those three fawns needed their mother much more that he needed to prove he was a capable hunter.

It took Lieutenant “T.I.” Williams a short moment to get the Captain’s attention and bring him back to the present. “Captain? Captain? Captain? Seminole!”

“Yeah?”

“I think our brother’s in danger. Let’s get the others and bring him home.”

Seminole nodded in the affirmative and they immediately got in their planes to head back to base.


	3. And so it starts

** Chapter Three **

** As so it starts **

Sandwich and Country flew directly back to base along with the B17s and the rest of the squadron. As soon as Sandwich set his two feet on to the solid ground, he began to go about doing what he does best and that was hustle.

Lt. Louis “Sandwich” Turner could be described as the guy you always see smiling. Slightly on the darker side of brown, lean and tall. He had the kind of expression that seem to always know something you didn’t and his smile reminded you of the fox who knew how to get into the chicken coop. He grew up on the right side of skinny, but this was due the fact that he went to bed many times hungry.

When he walked, he did so with a natural rhythm, the way a student in the sweet science of pugilism would walk. He was confident and with a purpose in his manner and this made him with women at dances. His good looks and hustling skills made him even more popular with the ladies off the dance floor.

To know Sandwich well, would be to know that he was a vigilant man. When dealing with him it would best be remembered that he tried always to be aware of his surroundings, another skill besides boxing he developed if he were survive without a family on the streets of Harlem, he never took bet on things he was not sure of and he strongly believed a fool and his money were easily parted.

It was not long before Lt. “Sandwich” Tuner arrived outside of his quarters. He looked around, oblivious to being spied on, and entered his not so private tent. His, so called, room was more a corner of the tent that housed Sandwich’s bunk and belongings as it did for the other pilots of his squadron. Sandwich, however, deliberately selected that area as it was perfectly obscured from the view of any of the windows. The tents of the barracks had all been erected the same way, over wooden floorboards. It was a makeshift flooring to prevent everyone from having to just walking around continuously dry sandy dirt.

Under Lt. Tuner’s bunk he removed four wide wooden floorboards. Then from the hole he had previously made he pulled out two large brown worn suitcases and unlocked them both with a small gold colored key. In the first cases it was filled with such contraband cigarettes, Hershey’s chocolate bars, a few small bottles of cheap whiskey and a few more bottles of coke-a-cola. The cigarettes were not for smoking, they were too valuable for that. Like the other items in the case they were a form of currency. The candy bars being an exception of course because who does like to snack on chocolate candy bars occasionally.

Sandwich removed ten bars of chocolate and two carton boxes of cigarettes, before returning the first brown case to the hole. The seconded case contained various items thrown together and from there he removed two boxes of ammunition for a 45 pistol (The standard side arm for a US army airman), a handheld flashlight and a postcard size, autographed picture of a beautiful light skinned Afro-American singer and actress Lena Horne. Sandwich read the inscription to himself “With all my heart, Lena Horne X”. He then kissed the photograph and placed it into his top shirt pocket behind a very small pocket bible.

After locking and returning the second brown suitcase Sandwich also returned it to under the floorboards and then brought out a sack. From the sack Sandwich produced a small homemade crystal radio. The flashlight and bullets were for if Seminole and T.I. did not manage to return with Bang-Bang then they were all going off base and it was going to be dark and dangerous out there. The radio would secure him and the guys the use of a vehicle for the night and the photograph and the bible were to keep God and Miss Lena Horne watching over him and keeping him safe. After all, if Lena Horne didn’t watch over and look out for him now how was he going to meet and marry her after the war?

Outside of Lt. “Sandwich” Turner’s tent was a Lieutenant David Maloney straining, unsuccessfully, to look in any way he could. He saw Lt. Turner, not long after he landed and decided to follow him. He figured if Lt. Turner was up to no good, he would follow him and be there and report this to his Commanding Officer.

He was always trying to gain a few brownie points and to be honest his C.O. was sick of the sight of him. Lt. Maloney was bad for moral and seemed to believe that catching somebody, anybody, in the act of delinquency would be a nice feather in his cap and maybe put him on a faster track to a promotion. God forbid that Lieutenant Maloney should stick to doing his actual job. He was well known for sticking his nose so far into other people’s business that you could throw pepper in the air on the East side of the barracks and hear him sneeze all the way over on the west side of the barracks.

Eventually Maloney got tired of straining to see into the tent and made an about turn to try again from yet another angle. Only, as he did so, he was surprised to be looking directly into the chest of Lt. Turner himself. They stood for a moment face to face only inches apart, though to say face to face was a slight exaggeration as Lt. Maloney was at least a foot shorter than Sandwich. He tried to pull himself up to his full height while still coming up short. At the same time, he attempted to conceal the shock of being caught snooping on this very same guy he was caught by. The smaller, smarmy Maloney was astonished and a little disturbed that he could not even hear Lt. Turner approach. There was no sound, no clue, not even the faintest hint of his presence, yet there he was.

He mustered up what little back bone he had and demanded that Turner should to tell him what he was up to.

“Why am I telling you anything, Lt, Moron? You don’t out rank me. You don’t even have no reason to even be in the colored quarters.”

Both men were of equal rank, but this weasel from Boston suffered from gradualism. He thought himself superior to all the colored airmen and quite a few white airmen from the south. He bristled at being called Lt. Moron and replied, “I know you’re up to something.”

“Really, like what?” Sandwich had to stifle a laugh.

With that Maloney did not reply at first. He stood there with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, but Lt. Turner had him. There was nothing that he could report, as he could not go to his C.O. with the words, ‘I can feel it in my bones.’

Maloney then said coldly, “What are you up to boy?”

Maloney was from Massachusetts but tried to use a Southern accent. He thought that if he could provoke Lt. Louis Tuner in to doing something rash then he would have something pin on him. Lt. Turner would not only get himself sent to the stockade but have himself thrown out of the Army Air Corps all together.

Sandwich fixed him with a cold hard stare, clenching his fists and thinking, contemplating, working through his options. He was never going to hit Lt. David Maloney, he just wanted to scare him. This must have achieved its purpose as Maloney finally fully realized the severity of his situation. He was provoking a guy everyone knew to have the skills of professional boxer. He was a man whose skill in the ring was talked about around the base and it was believed but could probably go a few rounds with welterweight champion Henry Armstrong. He also realized that he was in the colored section of the barracks with no reason or otherization and that none of the colored personnel would bare witness on his behalf. Finally, he thought to himself that if Lt. Turner were to hit him, would he even be able to get back up.

“Lt. Moron, you’ve been watching me since I landed, having you got anything better to do?”

Lieutenant Maloney paid no attention to what was said, without a word he made a hasty retreat. While at the same time attempted to keep up the bravado of not being very afraid and making his retreat not look like a retreat at all.

When Sandwich had left his plane to collect certain items from his tent Country left his plane to collect his own supplies. He gathered food for the journey, like bread, salt beef and hard cheese, things that would not spoil on a long journey in a hot climate. He accumulated dates, dried fruits, and nuts to snack on and enough water for five guys to use over a period of two days.

After two days he figured they would have to find what they could on the road because there was no coming back to get refills. In fact, when they returned, he understood that they were all heading to the stockade, without passing ‘Go’. He wondered how his family would take the news of his when they got word about his desertion. He wondered how long he would serve in the Stockade before being kicked out with a dishonorable discharged.

This was not important, Bang-Bang was missing, and if the situation were in reverse and it were himself lost out there each one of these guys would do the same for him. They had a brother alone out in North Africa, and he must be rescued before the Germans or Italians got to him first.

Country was not exactly calling in favors by collecting food and water from the mess tents. He was a well-liked guy, knowledgeable, and helpful guy. He did not have to trade, beg, or barter for anything, he had already helped many of the cooks around the barracks in their time of need. If something looked burnt, he could find a way to still use it. If something tasted off or bad, he could deduct what was wrong a rescue it. He was the fastest pair of hands in any kitchen and remembered more recipes off the top of his head than all the cooks combined.

It was rumored that Lieutenant Earl “Country boy” Woods was a descendant of the legendary Chef Hercules Posey, or Uncle Harkless to his friends, and he was so good nobody questioned it. In truth, Country learned from his Grandmother, who in turn learn from her mother, who in turn learned from her father, so it was possible, but nobody knew for sure. When asked why he not became a chef instead he would laugh a deep billowy laugh and shout, “What, and give up flying!?!”

Outside of the kitchen, there were many in the barracks whom Country had helped by dipping into his own savings. Many soldiers had wives, kids, and mothers they were sending money home for, but Country did not. His brothers and sisters were all well looked after back on home, working the farm, and going to school. He had one younger brother old enough to serve somewhere in the Pacific and no girl waiting for him. Sometimes another service member would get word that a water pipe had burst, or a roof started to leek or little Johnny had to see a doctor and they came up short. If it were possible, Country would help, he knew whoever would be good for it, but what he did not know was if they were not honorable in paying him back, they would get a visit from his brother Sandwich.

Lieutenant Earl Woods looked and sounded like he grew up on a farm, because he did grow up on a farm. Everyone called him “Country boy” or “Country” for short because of the way he spoke. It was slow and methodical, which some people foolishly had mistook that for him being slightly simple. What they failed to understand was that Uncle Sam does not trust simple people with valuable flying machines. He had big arms from bailing hay, powerful thighs and back from ploughing fields and rough hands from all the manual labor he did, like fixing fences. He was what some colored folks described as red boned, which meant he had a lighter complexion, not due to mixed parents like his squadron brother Captain “Seminole” Freeman who had a black mother and a father from the Miccosukee nation.

While going around the base Earl laid eyes on Nurse Carmen Martinez. He and the nurse he had been dancing with each other and talking just the night before. One of the very few Puerto Rican nurses on the base which was not that unusual in the colored units. Many nurses, pilots, mechanics and other support service men and women from Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, the U.S. Virgin Islands and even some places within the British Commonwealth like Trinidad and Tobago or St. Lucia, though that was rare, would work with in the colored units.

The sight of Nurse Martinez brought an instant smile to Earl’s face, though he was most likely unaware of it. She had a positive effect on him, and this drew him towards her, and he was not aware of this until he found himself standing right before her. Being in her presence was like being out on a perfect radiant warm day in May.

“Shall I compare thee to a bright summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

Carmen had never heard anyone speak like this guy, it was colorful, poetic, beautiful and about her.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Shakespeare.” He answered with a smile.

Carmen, too, felt warmth radiate from her heart when she saw him again. He was pleasantly, different and unlike the other guys at the dance Earl “Country” Woods felt genuine. Nurse Martinez would be described as having a healthy stature which made her look cutie, especially when she smiled. Country made her smile a lot. He said she looked like she had stepped out of a painting by Eugène Henri Paul Gauguin, and she giggled. She had never heard anyone say anything like that before, she did not even know who Eugène Henri Paul Gauguin was. She reminded him of the women that Gauguin painted with straight dark hair, dark caramel skin, and round features.

To two of them spoke briefly. He felt that she was the only person outside of the five he could trust to tell and explained what he and the rest of his buddies were up to. He told her If Seminole and T.I. didn’t find their brethren Bang-Bang then they were going to sneak off base that night and go look for him themselves. In the meantime, while they were waiting for the two to get back, both Sandwich and he were collecting supplies they would meet up at the motor pool where they will manage to get the use of a General Purpose Vehicle from a friend. A light came on behind Carmen’s eyes and she excitedly told him that she will meet him back at that motor pool before they left. She was so excited she rushed off, stopped, returned to give Country a quick sweet kiss before rushing off again. From that moment it was Country’s turn to have his eyes light up and he walked off with a new spring in his step, thinking about the night before when they meet.

They had spent the whole night together, talking more than they danced. Earl was intrigued by her confidence and listen with interest as she talked about taking great pride in being a nurse. He listened intently about her stories of growing up in Valencia, Bayamon and how she followed her mother into the profession of nursing.

At one point they were interrupted by Sonny “Buster” Brown, a former college lineman from Clarke Atlanta University. He grabbed nurse Carmen and pulled her towards himself demanding a dance from the pretty nurse. She was not pleased about being grabbed and handled. She tried to pull away, but Buster was as strong. Buster’s friends tried to intervene on behalf of the nurse, but the former football lineman brushed them away like annoying flies.

He had been sipping the homemade hooch one of guys had made for the dance throughout the night and before that the whiskey sent from back home in a care package from his uncle. He had celebrating his favorite uncle getting married, but unhappy that he was not able to be there in person.

Nurse Carmen could not pull her had away, but the young Buster was not used to being told no. He was genuinely confused about why a woman did not want to dance with this big strong and handsome man. young thing that deserved his attention. He was further confused when he felt a strong vice like grip grab hold of his wrist making it possible for the pretty nurse to be released from his hold. He looked down to the hand and followed it up to a light skinned husky flyboy.

Now Buster’s buddies were trying harder to calm the situation down and move their slightly inebriated brother along. Along with them also, not approving of how this woman was being treaded, they were worried about that this would deter other women coming back for any future events. They also did not want Country to get hurt. He was well liked and it would be a shame to see him get hurt and if a fight broke out then it will definitely be an end of the underground barrack dances that the higher ups had been turning a blind eye to.

Country stood between Sonny “Buster” Brown and Nurse Carmen Martinez, a barrier of reason between the chaos. At first Buster tried to reach the nurse again and ignore the gentleman asking him kindly to stop and behave. Buster, finally forced confront the airman, warned Country to get out the way, while Buster’s friend began to fall away realizing that a fight may occur. One the guys looked around frantically to see if any of Country’s were around. The first reason was for Lt. Earl “Country” Woods protection and second was in case Sandwich was around because then all hell with let loose.

A wide circle formed around the two, wide because they did not want to get in the way of Buster’s flying fists and circular because they all wanted to see how badly this will turn out for Country. This was the first time Country was standing to anyone and though both men were the same height, they were complete opposites in other ways. The chiseled, darker Buster looked formidable and intimidating compared to more stout and rounded Country, softer, kinder, and with a friendlier presence.

With all the noise surrounding the pair, this got into Buster’s head. So many people shouting what he should be doing, the alcohol and the heat, combined with the frustration of not getting what he wanted agitated him and he just wanted the world to just shout up. Finally, Buster had enough and out of nowhere threw a hard right that seemed to come from all the way down south. It was so fast that nobody saw it coming. In fact, nobody realized it had been thrown till they saw Country catch the fist in his hand.

The room went dead silent, not even the insects of the night could be heard outside. Each person who was present on the dance floor surrounding the two had a look of complete shock on their faces. What followed was even more amazing, because before Buster could react Country then slapped him with an open palm. The sound of a pop resonated throughout the tent landing Sonny “Buster” Brown down on his derriere. He felt like he had been hit by fifty-pound sack of flour but did not seem to realize when he got hit, but just found himself on the floor, lost and confused. Though dazed and confused it was like he spoke with some newfound clarity. He spoke ever so politely, but he just couldn’t focus and still failing to understand how he came to be sitting in the middle of this makeshift dance floor.

His friends got Sonny “Buster” Brown up off the floor, ushered him outside to walk him around as they had obviously dealt with a concussion before. The crown suddenly went wild, Lieutenant Earl “Country” Woods, the subject on everyone’s tongue. As far as all those attending the dance in the colored section of barracks was concerned it was June 22nd, 1938 and they all witness Joe Louis knock out Max Schmeling in the first round, all over again.

The guys in makeshift band, made up from one airman, two mechanics, two cooks and an off-duty guard, started playing a familiar recent hit and began to sign.

_“Now, let us_

_Talk about the Brown Bomber_

_Tell the nation the story_

_Now, let us_

_Talk about the Brown Bomber_

_Joe Louis was a fighting man…”_


End file.
